Despite investment and Universities, it’s reassuring to know that the **** gene puddle remains intact.
The town centre is a selection of shopping centres, and pedestrianised areas where ***** are getting ever more obnoxious in their attempts to provoke passers by into an argument and/or fight.
When young, they congregate outside MacDonalds where wispy upper-lipped ******* sporting the latest thing they shop-lifted from JJB Sports, self-consciously flick a lit cigarette whilst swearing in a bizarre accent that is a cross between Dundonian and Ali G. The end result sounds like they once smoked the cigarette the wrong way round.
The girls stand around in the clothes the boys shop-lifted from Miss Selfridge for them, combined with a single piece of “designer” sports wear with a logo that can be read from orbit. The temperature rarely breaches double figures, but the proud young mothers to be flaunt their bare corned-beef patterned legs, and wobbling navels – replete with piercing – and laugh loudly whilst flicking THEIR cigarettes like some kind of nicotine-induced tic.
It’s remarkable these individuals learn to walk at all, because as soon as they reach the age of 17 (and parenthood – to prove they have “done it”) they miraculously can afford to buy, lower, ICE and drive a striking assortment of former mummy’s shopping cars. After all that, they can’t possibly afford to tax or insure them, so why bother? Replace the exhaust with a length of stainless steel drainpipe, stick some bacofoil in the rear lights to make them reflective and “co-ool”, crank up the stereo, and dangle your hand out of the window at traffic-lights whilst self-consciously flicking a cigarette and deafening passers-by with your latest pneumatic drill soundtrack.
When they’re bored, they troop up the hill in great gangs, and find a drunk student (on his own preferably, and from England is best) before setting upon him and putting him in Ninewell’s hospital where he’ll eat meals through a straw for the next month, before going home – never to go out at night again.
Trust me. Give it a miss.